What's So Right About That?
by CeCe Away
Summary: "But once I cross that line, I don't think Dean will ever . . ." Angst hurt!Sam To the rescue!Dean Part of the LJ Summer of Sam Celebration


What's So Right About That?

Tag to Criss Angel is a Douche Bag. Season 4: Episode 12 as Part of the LJ Summer of Sam Celebration 2010

The usual disclaimer: Don't own a thang.

The Blade skipped across Ruby's arm, leaving behind a soft trickle of red. Sam stared at it, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Bile rose in his throat. He didn't want it. Didn't feel a pull toward it. Just the opposite.

Ruby lifted her arm. "You said you were ready."

Sam's gaze snapped to her dark eyes. "I know. I am. It's just . . ." _People are going to die, Sam. Oceans of people._

"I thought your dad taught you better than that." Ruby's lips twisted downward.

Sam shook his head. "You don't get to talk about my dad. You know nothing about him."

Ruby stared ahead where a light wind blew a battered paper cup against the windshield. "I know he taught you better than to go into battle with an untried weapon. Have you ever walked into a hunt with a dull blade? Or a shotgun without rounds, Sam? Yet you're all too willing to run after Lilith with your gun half-cocked."

"Ruby. It's not like that." Sam frowned. "These powers, what's inside me, are . . ."

"What? Evil? They're a weapon, Sam. To be used. Is a gun evil or the man holding it?"

Sam stared ahead out the window. "It's not the same and you know it."

"_See the thing about real magic, is it's a whole lot like crack," Dean had said to Jay. "People do surprising things once they get a taste of it."_

Sam dropped his gaze back to the slice on Ruby's arm. The blood was sliding down toward her wrist in tiny rivulets. It made his stomach curdle. And Dean . . . Dean would never understand. It was all black and white to him.

"_Listen Jay, you know Charlie was never going to give up what he was doing. Ever." Dean didn't so much as blink. "You did the right thing."_

"_You sure about that? You know Charlie was like my brother and now he's dead because I did the right thing. He offered me a gift and I just threw it back in his face. So now I have to spend the rest of my life old and alone. What's so right about that?" _

"You gonna to do this or what?" Ruby snapped. "Cause I don't really enjoy cutting myself for nothing."

"Yeah." Sam tempered the queasiness coating his throat, took the demon's small arm in his hands, lifted it to his lips. He hated this. Hated the coppery smell. Hated that Jay killed his best friend to do the right thing. Sam knew this was betraying Dean's trust, but he'd risk that, hating doing it, because it was the right thing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he flinched back, dropping Ruby's arm. They stared at each other as the call went unanswered, both knowing who it was.

As soon as it quit buzzing, Ruby sighed. "Look, I know you think you're letting Dean down, but you're wrong. This is helping him. Lilith keeps walking topside, people die. And you know Dean. He'll get in the crossfire and he'll be one of the casualties. This- being ready to take on Lilith will keep Dean from being killed. It's the right thing. It will save so many lives. He just can't see it."

"I know." Sam's voice was husky. "But once I cross that line, and . . . I don't think Dean will ever . . ." He couldn't even say it.

Ruby's features softened in that way that made Sam forget that she was a demon riding inside a vacant coma patient. Her voice melted into a dewy pitch. "He'll understand, Sam. Not right away, but once it's over and once he's thinking straight. Since Dean escaped the pit, all he can see is hell. His sight is broken, Sam. He's broken. Right now Dean can't see any redemption past the dark and screaming and evil and blood. I know, I was in hell a long time. I didn't believe there was any good . . . until I saw you." Her fingers smoothed over his cheek. "I saw you, Sam. _You are good_. You are good. This power inside you doesn't overshadow that. And when he's able to look for it, Dean will see that too."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He ached to believe that, anchored on to it like the last root in a falling landslide. Resolved, Sam curled his long fingers over Ruby's hand on his cheek, pulling her arm closer, and drank.

#

Stepping out of the car, Sam closed the door without so much as a "see ya later". He'd only taken a few gulps. That was all he could handle. "Take it slow," Ruby cautioned. He didn't want to take it at all, didn't want to go back to that balanced tip where the demon blood awakened that dormant power lying within. He'd walked away from it before when Dean returned from hell, but it'd been damned hard. But this time, there'd be no walking away. He was in this until his powers killed Lilith or killed him in the process, maybe both.

Not anywhere ready to face Dean, Sam walked aimlessly along the streets, seeking peace, though even the weather seemed to pace his riotous thoughts as the wind kicked up around him, blowing loose garbage across the sidewalks and flapping awnings over shop windows. Instead of following most of the people who were escaping the sudden wind storm inside the cafés and bars, Sam turned onto one of the little paths that led into the small park.

The phone buzzed inside his jacket. Blowing out a breath, he debated answering. He wasn't ready to speak to Dean because he never was good at hiding anything from his brother. But he also couldn't avoid his calls either, because that would alert Dean to something being up quicker. He dug the phone out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

"_Why haven't you been answering your phone?"_

"Uh, sorry? Didn't hear it." Sam squinted. "It's really windy out here."

"_You're still walking? Well, you need to get back. We got problems. Where are you? I need to know exactly where you are."_

Sam stopped walking, picking up on the agitation in Dean's tone. "I'm over at that park a few blocks down from the hotel. What's going on?"

"_The park with those freaky statues?" _

Sam smiled, glancing up at a smooth white sculpture that was the center point of the lapping pond. The modern art could either be entwined lovers or possibly snakes swallowing each other. Even he couldn't tell though he didn't admit it when Dean said it was a figure eight with faces. Seeing it in the moonlight with the glow reflecting off the water, it did look like a figure eight. "Yeah, that park. So what's happened?"

"_Okay. I need you to stay right where you are. I'm coming. Don't go anywhere. Don't even move. We're not finished here."_

Unconsciously, Sam shuffled closer to the pond's edge and placed a hand on one of the giant statues ringing the pond in artistic symmetry. His stomach was roiling from the effects of demon blood. Like the first time, unaccustomed to it. "But Charlie's gone. The Immortality Spell was broken."

"_I found a Tarot card in my jacket." _

Sam's blood went still. Damn. They'd figured the second spell ended with Charlie's death as well. "The Death Transference spell is still in play. You think Jay slipped it on you?"

"_I don't know. I doubt it. Could have been Charlie before Jay ganked him. Or Vernon for all we know."_

"What card was it?"

"_What?"_ The jangle of keys was heard over the line.

"_Oh. Um, The Chariot."_

"Dean!" Sam lurched away from the sculpture. "Don't get in the Impala."

"_What? Why?" _

Sam could picture the brows drawn together in surprise. "Just don't. Look, we know that what happens in the Transference Spell isn't actually based on the Tarot card, but a loose interpretation. The Chariot is more about taking the reins of your life, about control." Sam paused, struck at how fitting that was for Dean.

"_How do you even know that?"_ He heard the pad of Dean's footsteps. _"Your head is a compendium of all things freakiness." _

"The good news is that with the spell tied to Jay, it's more about something bad happening to him, and then being transferred to you. As long as he's safe, you're safe. And he's not doing his magic tricks anymore. As long as he doesn't get in any random accidents . . ."

"_Since when does our luck hold that good? So you're saying that if Jay gets run over by a bus or something, I'm the one taking the hit."_

"Right. So Dean, go back to the hotel. I'm heading there now. You need to stay put." Sam started walking back down the little cement path.

"_No can do. Besides, I've taken care of it. The card is gone. I'm good."_

"What? How did you . . .?"

"_Called Bobby. He knew the reversal incantation. Turned out we only needed to soak them in cemetery dirt, and . . . listen, Bobby told me something else. There's seventy-eight cards in a Tarot deck, right? With the three used on the magicians, and the one on me . . . I only un-spelled seventy-seven. Sam, I need you to check your pockets."_

Sam's pace slowed. He stopped within the ambient light shining up onto another sculpture.

Dean's voice was still badgering across the line. _"I have the incantation. Bobby emailed it and I already took care of the rest of the deck. Sam?"_

"Yeah." Sam's voice was a hushed whisper, barely registering above the howling wind. "That was smart thinking." His fingers closed around the thin card.

Dean had stopped jabbering. _"You found it, didn't you?"_

"Yep."

"_What . . . which one is it?"_

"Eight of Cups." Sam stared at the picture of a man surrounded by water, walking away from the bounty in the cups into a barren wasteland. The symbol of sacrifice and purposely heading into a bleak and uncertain future.

"_That's good, right? That doesn't sound so bad. At least it's not one of those sword ones." _

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll be fine. I'm headed your way."

Again, there was a pause. "_Sammy, I know that voice. What does that card mean?"_

"Nothing. It's just . . . Jeb's card was the Hangman and he hung. Vance was impaled with the Ten of Swords in his pocket. Mine is a water card." Sam looked around at the path he was on, at the path that wound neatly around ponds upon ponds upon ponds. He was surrounded by water.

And by the hitch of breath he heard over the phone, Sam knew that Dean realized that too.

"_Don't move. Not even one step. I'm coming."_

#

Twenty miles away, Jay stared out across a man-made lake out in the middle of a barley field. He'd killed his best friend. Vernon would never speak to him again. He'd done the right thing, and the right thing had destroyed him.

He pushed his hair back, straightened his tie and tugged down the sleeves of his best tuxedo. After securing the chains to his hips, he slipped the rest of them around his body. It didn't matter how tight they were, he wasn't going to slip them. It just mattered that they were heavy. Tossing the small keys he usually kept hidden on his body into the grass, The Incredible Jay walked into the lake to give his final performance.

#

Dean ran down the sidewalk, adrenaline pumping his heart as surely as his legs. The wind whipped around him, snapping the fancy Magic Week banners on the light poles. Darting into the street, loud shrieks by his ear made him spin, flinching at the hooves pawing the air inches from his head. Throwing his arms up and ducking, Dean gaped at the horse, bucking within the harness attached to one of those fancy carriages intended for tourists.

"Whoa, Gert!" The driver pulled on the reins. "It's only the wind."

Dean put a shaky hand on his chest, blowing out a breath. "Freaking chariot." He had to get to Sam.

Lurching forward, Dean ran across the street, skidding into the park, and rushed down one of the little pathways between ponds.

"Oh thank you," he panted, slowing when he saw Sam, safe and alive, a short distance away, standing still just as he'd told him.

Sam turned, a little hesitant. His posture was different, lower in the way Sam ducked his head not wanting to look at Dean straight on. Even in the dark, Dean could tell something had changed, shifted from when his brother had stepped out to take a walk. Oh, crap. What now? They were in for another PMS moment, he just knew it. He rolled his eyes. Yep, couldn't wait to deal with that back at the hotel.

"You got the card?"

"Yeah." Sam reached into his jacket pocket, and the wind roared to life in a sudden mini cyclone, exploding light bulbs, and breaking large branches off trees in a path bent straight toward—

"Sam!"

Dean raced to him, fighting against the wind and flying leaves and branches, unable to see through the kicked up water and dirt while cracking and splintering wails shrieked by. As quickly as it had appeared, the cyclone ripped away, cutting a path across the shallow water.

"Sam!" Dean scanned the path of wreckage. A tree was splintered nearly in two, large branches covering the pathway and churning water. The fallen half of the trunk had crashed into one of the sculptures, pushing it into the pond, but Sam was no where . . . Shit! Shrugging out of his jacket on the run, Dean flung it aside and ran into the pond. It was less than three feet deep, but there was Sam on his back, hands pushing against that ugly statue pinning him down.

"Hang on, Sammy, hang on!" Dean shouted as though Sam could hear him. Wrapping his arms around the sculpture, Dean groaned, pulling with everything he had, but it didn't budge so he quickly moved to Sam's head, grabbing him under the arms and pulling. If he could just get Sam's face above the water. "Come on, Sammy."

Sam was staring at him, long hair waving in the water. He shoved at Dean's hands, pushing Dean away. "Stop it, Sam! Stop." Sam got hold of his hand, pressing his own into Dean's palm. Paper. Wet crumbling paper. The Tarot card! Dean grabbed it. He ran out of the water to his jacket, pulled out his phone and the plastic bag of cemetery dirt. Upending the dirt over the ruined fragments of the card, Dean whipped open his phone, and punched in Bobby's I.D., and put it on speaker, screaming when the old man answered.

"Bobby, do the incantation. Over the phone now!"

"_What?"_

"Just do it!"

Bobby didn't hesitate. His voice began shouting in Cantonese and Dean set the phone down by the torn card and raced back into the water.

Sam wasn't moving. His arms floated, resting on the surface. No. No! Plopping down in the water at Sam's head, Dean pulled on his brother. He kicked at the sculpture. "Somebody help me!" he screamed, hoping somebody, anybody, was out in the windy dark. "Help me! Fire! Fire!" he rasped. "Fire." Sam was drowning and he couldn't free him by himself. Nobody was around to help him. "Fire!" This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. Not Sam. Not Sam. Not like this. Not Sam.

Bobby's voice screamed on, then suddenly stopped, the incantation complete. Dean kicked on the statue and felt the roll. He kicked again. The sculpture rocked. Encouraged, Dean braced both his legs and pushed out with all his strength and the statue shifted. Sam's arms lifted and fell with the waves the settling piece of crap art made and Dean locked his arms around Sam, pulling, pulling, pulling, his jaw locked, pulling some more until Sam's head cleared the water. Just a little more. Dean shoved the sculpture away, off his brother and dragged Sam free. He hauled the gangly body up onto the pathway, turning Sam over, pounding his back.

"Come on come on come on."

"_Dean? Dean? What's happening?"_ Bobby shouted over the phone speaker.

"He's not breathing! Come on, Sam." Dean flopped him onto his back, checked his mouth, tilted Sam's head to open his airway and bent close to listen. No breath on his cheek. No chest movement. Training took over, though it did nothing to push back Dean's panic.

He pinched Sam's nose, and sealed his own mouth over his, giving Sam a breath that made his chest rise. Watching it fall was terrifying. He breathed again, feeling his own life pour into Sam's.

"Come on come on. One, two, three, four . . ." The heels of his hands, fingers interlaced pushed Sam's chest.

"_CPR?"_ Bobby yelled. _"Where are you? I'm getting an ambulance out there . . ."_

Dean couldn't answer. He was back to breathing for Sam, until suddenly Sam jerked, his arms floundering. Dean pulled back, yanked Sam over onto his side where Sam gagged, choking, hacking up water. It was a heart wrenching, wonderful sound.

"Bluaaaa," Sam finally squeaked out and rolled onto his back. Dean shook all over, giddy with relief.

"We're good now, we're good." Dean pulled him up, letting the back of Sam's wet head rest against his soggy stomach, wrapping his arms around the wide shoulders and allowed himself a moment to relax, to breathe and soak in the fact that Sam was okay. Sam was alive. He had him. He had him. Dripping wet and huge and shivering and breathing on his own.

"_Boys!"_ Bobby's tone was anxious. _"You answer me! You all right?"_

Dean picked up the phone, held it close. "Yeah, Bobby. We're good."

"_Didn't sound good. I heard everything. Sounded like a whole lot of bad." _

Sam blinked up at Dean questioningly. Dean shook his head. "We're good. Listen, I'll call ya later, okay."

"_Yeah, well."_ Bobby sounded reluctant, but he understood about cleaning up fast after a hunt, even though he didn't know exactly what had just happened or if there was clean up involved. _"You better."_ And he clicked off.

"Are we?" Sam sounded weak, his voice raw.

"Are we what?"

"Good."

"Yeah." Dean squeezed Sam's wet arm. "We survived yet another day, so I'd say we're good."

"Is that what you see?"

Dean frowned. What was going on in his brother's head now? "Is _what_ what I see?"

"When you look at me." Sam's forehead wrinkled, his eyes intense as though this was the most important question in the world. "Good. When you look at me do you see any good?"

The question startled Dean. He pulled back to really look at his brother. "Sam? You need to not think so hard after you almost drown. You're not making any sense."

Sam's features wilted, the expressive brows lowering and bunching together. Nodding against Dean's belly, Sam looked away.

Instinctively, Dean wrapped his arms more tightly around Sam, feeling as though something indefinable had just slipped past him, though he couldn't fathom what it was or how to grasp it back.

Sam mumbled something and Dean lowered his head to hear. All he caught was " . . . just trying to do the right thing."

FIN


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